


Storm

by RadarsTeddyBear



Series: Ducktober 2018 [18]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Boat, Fictober, Gen, Ocean, Pre-Series, Storm - Freeform, prompt: flashback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 16:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadarsTeddyBear/pseuds/RadarsTeddyBear
Summary: During a particularly bad storm on the houseboat, Donald can't help but remember an even worse storm from years ago...





	Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: ["Flashback"](http://radarsteddybear.tumblr.com/post/169006603389/whumpreads-i-dont-draw-but-ive-been-thinking).

Donald sat in the rocking chair in the ducklings’ room, watching the babies closely as they slept.  Lightning flashed outside, bringing along with it terrifying crashes, and the houseboat rocked back and forth in the waves.  By some miracle, the boys didn’t seem to care and slept soundly, but Donald couldn’t sleep. What if their cribs slid across the floor and crashed into each other?  What if they fell over? The sandbags he’d piled at their bases seemed be helping, but Donald couldn’t shake the fear that something terrible would happen as soon as he took his eyes away.

The houseboat lurched to starboard and Donald gripped the armrests of the chair, watching the cribs intently as if daring them to topple over.   Another flash of lightning bathed everything in harsh light, and suddenly Donald was somewhere else…

_“Reef the mainsail!  Hold ‘er steady!” Uncle Scrooge was shouting._

_“Aye aye, Captain!” Della shouted back with a salute._

_Donald grumbled to himself under the sound of the storm.  He should be the one giving orders, not Uncle Scrooge. He had much more sailing experience, even if you counted Uncle Scrooge’s time sailing the Mississippi on a riverboat._

_Donald turned, and he saw that Della was saying something to him.  Before he could say, “what,” he was surrounded by water, pushing and pulling him this way and that until he couldn’t tell up from down.  He kicked frantically, trying to break free from its grasp, his lungs unprepared for such an onslaught. He broke through the surface and had just enough time for a gulp of air before he was pulled down again.  He struggled against the deadly grip of the sea and surfaced once again, taking in huge lungfuls of air before he was inevitably pulled down again._

_“Donald!”_

_Donald couldn’t tell if it was his sister or just the wind, but he looked for her, nonetheless.  He couldn’t find the ship. Where was the ship? It couldn’t have gone far, not in this storm; where did it go?_

_“Donald!”_

_It was louder this time.  Donald turned around and there it was!_

_Della was standing on deck, holding tightly to the railing with one hand and tossing a life preserver secured with a rope with the other.  In this wind, there was no way she could throw it with any sort of precision, but by some miracle, it wasn’t too far off the mark. Donald began to swim to it, but another wave pulled him under.  He came up coughing and sputtering, but doggedly pressed on until he reached the life preserver. The waves tried to reclaim him, but they were no match for the preserver as Della reeled him in. She helped him back aboard and Donald shook the water off his feathers, though with the rain pouring down around them it didn’t make much of a difference._

_Della started to say something, but Donald brushed her off.  He couldn’t hear her over the storm, anyway. He marched to the bridge deck and forcefully took the wheel from Uncle Scrooge.  He checked their heading and then spun the wheel, turning the boat around. Leave it to Uncle Scrooge to insist on staying on course rather than get out of the storm._

_Almost as soon as Donald spun the wheel back to its original position to right the rudder, he was engulfed by another wave and held fast to the wheel to anchor himself to the ship..._

Donald found himself back in his nephews’ room, gasping for breath, as another crack of thunder broke through the memory of that storm so long ago.

He’d forgotten about that.  It had been years ago, a mere six months after he’d gotten out of the Navy.  Scrooge and Della were so happy to have him back, or so they'd said, but Donald still had the same nagging feeling that he was more of a nuisance than anything else.

Another crack of thunder sent Donald holding tight to his rocking chair, momentarily afraid that another wave would sweep him off the boat.  But no; he was ok. He was inside, and the houseboat was docked. Even a storm as bad as that one couldn’t reach him here.

During one of the brief respites between waves rocking the boat, Donald made his way over to the cribs and gazed at his nephews.  He wanted to hold them, hug them, feel that they were real, that _he_ was real, but he knew from experience that that wasn’t worth the risk of waking them up in the middle of the night.  So instead he put a hand on Dewey’s stomach and felt the rise and fall of his chest, matching it with his own. Outside, the storm finally began to wane--the sound of thunder began to quiet, the waves began to calm, the lightning and thunder became farther and farther apart--and for the first time since the storm had started, Donald was sure that it wouldn’t last forever.


End file.
